So I dropped the boys off at the airport. They're going to Boston. And I stay here, trying to piece this broken pot together. I will stay here now forever, I think: no more airports for me. A self-imposed house arrest.
But the sky is gentle, just now, the sky that my son and his friend are rising through at this very moment: in the east there's a glowing patch of fawn-colored sky with soft gray kerchiefs straggling across it. Dawn.
It's not that I have a grievance. I have an abundance, an embarrassment of gifts. They just don't seem to fit the mission I've been given.
It's good to pause, like this. At the new house a lizard dived past my shoulder into the hedge, unless it was a slender gray bird. Either way, it seemed like a good omen.
From the new house, it's downhill in three directions: we sit atop a shallow ridge. The ground only rises slightly to the east. North, west, and south are all downhill. From the edge of the lawn, sighting down 86th Avenue, you can see the top of Mt Scott, with gold grass lit up by the sunset. But Mt Tabor is hidden behind the trees.
Well. Back home, to see if I can get a bit more sleep. Good morning, and good night! Lots of love.